


165 - Poetry & Fuel

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert, Teenage Van
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 08:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17403416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “songfic off one of Catfish’s old songs, Poetry and Fuel? Maybe like the reader is with someone else, but Van loves her and doesn’t want her to be so lost, loving him.”





	165 - Poetry & Fuel

They looked at you with expressions ranging from shock, to happiness, to indifference. Van stood up, downed the rest of his warm stolen beer, and smashed the can on the table. He did it while looking at you, then he walked from the room and slammed the shed door behind him. The guys watched him go, their heads flicking back to yours like it was a tennis match. Going after him, you looked but couldn't find him all night. He ducked your calls for the whole week. Finally, on the morning you were due to leave for the city, he tapped on your bedroom window. Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you looked at him.

"You're making a big fuckin' mistake, Y/N," he said.

"I'm escaping, Van, getting away. That's been the plan all along,"

"What ever happened to that being us?"

"Is that what this is about? You're still fuckin' pissed that I picked him instead of you?" you asked. The sun was barely up and your parents' bedroom door opened. You could hear the squeak. "Van. Either come inside and talk, or-"

"No. Fuck you. Have a good life, Y/N," Van spat and walked away. It hurt to watch him go but you were just as stubborn as him. You both wanted out of that town. The type of town that gossiped and was full of melodrama. The type of place where people like Van were made. People that dreamed big, dreamed of leaving but were still comforted by what the village offered. He loved the fucking place, even if he couldn't admit it. You, less so.

A boy with a better leather jacket than Van's had caught your attention. His first name was Xander and that was cool enough that you didn't need to know much more. He was talking about bailing on his job and moving to the city. He knew a guy who knew a guy. If you played nice, played girlfriend, you could go with him. So that's what you did. You did it from your hometown all the way to the big city. You did it on your knees, but as you fell asleep to the sound of buzzing nightlife and heavy traffic, you were happy.

Xander didn't like that you called home so regularly. He said that you were better off not thinking about the friends you'd left behind and he'd always hated your parents. Falling in line, you thought about Van and Larry and the guys less and less. That was made easier by the amount of alcohol Xander poured down your throat and the amount of weed you used to self-medicate.You were rolling through the days and the weeks aimlessly. No more happy than you were back home anymore. Then, your mum called. She was in the city, wanted you to come for lunch.

As you sat down out the front of the café, you could see she hardly recognised you. "Y/N. You're so pale… Have you been eating?" she asked, almost crying and brushing hair from your face. You gently swatted her hand away.

"Mum, I'm fine,"

"You don't look it. Have you found a job yet?"

Technically? Yes. A legal one that paid proper wages, delivered with proper pay slips? No. You could efficiently weigh and bag though, and Xander was good enough to pay for that. It was hard to get by but you told yourself over and over again that it was really what you wanted. You listened when Xander told you that you were better off with him in the city.

"Yeah, yeah. I said I'm fine. It's good. Um, how's everyone back home?"

"Do you mean Van?"

"No. I mean everyone," you replied.

"They’re good. Mary told me their band is doing really well. I think they're coming here soon, actually, to play. You should go see them. I'm sure they'd love to see you. She says he misses you,"

"Yeah, maybe. How's dad?"

It should have been good to hear that everyone was doing well, that the world hadn't stopped turning when you left. But, the knowledge that the only thing lost was you was hard to bear. You finished lunch and kissed your mum goodbye. She hugged you tight, feeling worse than she did when she first let you go.

…

"Where the fuck have you been?" Xander yelled when you got home. You'd gone to see Catfish, and hidden in the shadows you watched your best friends absolutely kill it on stage. They were full of life and had written amazing songs and were making the crowd go fucking nuts. "You know I know they played some fucking shitty bar here? Is that where you went?"

"I didn't talk to them, I just-"

"You just fucking what? Went behind my back? You're so fucking ungrateful, Y/N. I bring you here. I give you a house and a fucking job, and you just run off as soon as that fucking lanky ass whiney kid shows up,"

"I didn't talk to him!" you yelled. It was a mistake. You ducked from him and ran to the bedroom, where you threw your few possessions into a bag. Xander was banging on the door. Could you duck him again? Was he faster than you? Probably. You looked out the window. Fire escape. Lucky for once in your life. You climbed out and down, hitting the dirty wet alleyway ground.

You were four blocks away when you realised you had forgotten three things. Firstly, your dope. Secondly, your favourite hoodie. Thirdly, your phone. You'd survive without the first two, but your phone had all the numbers you needed to bail you out of the situation. The address you could go to because you'd been stupid enough to not learn your way around. The photos of your life back home.

You only knew one number by heart, and when your mum picked up, all you could do was cry. She told you to get in a taxi and she'd pay for it when you got home. You cried halfway there and slept for the rest of the ride.

…

For the first week, your return home was a secret. Your mum and dad didn't tell anyone. You needed time to compose yourself, figure out a story that wasn't just you crawling back because you couldn't hack it in the real world. Your mum said it wasn't like that. "If you'd done it properly, gone with someone good, it would have been alright. This isn't your fault, Y/N. It's his," she told you.

You wanted to believe that but you felt that shifting the blame entirely was unfair. Yes, Xander was a horrible person. Like Larry had said a million times, "Whaddafackin' cunt, mate." But, you knew that. From the beginning you thought you were the smart one, self-aware. You weren't being used if you knew you were, or something like that. Didn't matter though, you were back in the town that never changed. Eventually, when a neighbour saw you through a window, word got out.

Would Van come looking for you?

No, he was too clever for that. You walked over to the bed and breakfast on a Sunday morning. The shed out the back where Catfish practised and the boys slept too much looked the exact same. It looked like home. You knocked gently but nobody answered. The door wasn't locked and you popped your head in. Larry was asleep on one of the old couches. It was the one with the holes in the cushions where people often hid things from their parents. You were too old for that though. When you left for the city you were almost nineteen. Then, back in the shed, you were almost twenty. Van and Larry would move out together soon and your adult lives would begin. Still time to crash there though. 

Van was lying topless on the bare mattress you'd found on the side of the road. There was a long debate about how disgusting it was to reuse a mattress but in the end it was Febrezed a couple of times and dragged to the shed. Van had a quilt over him, and he was lying face down.

You took your shoes off and looked around for something warm. Van's old hoodie was on the table. It smelt like stale beer and tobacco and nothing good. You inhaled and put it on quickly. Van stirred as you crawled under the blanket with him. He rolled onto his side and looked at you. He'd been waiting for you to find him.

"Hi," he whispered, pulling the quilt up around you.

"Hi… You can say 'I told you so' if you want," you said. You owed him at least that. He shook his head.

"Didn't want to be right, Y/N. Wanted you to be happy," he told you. You bit your lip to hold back tears. Van could see it and pulled you close. You rested your head on his chest and let him wrap you up in his arms. "You're okay, Y/N. You'll be alright. I promised you I'd get you out of here and I will. Just give me another year or two, yeah?" You nodded. You'd give him however long he needed. You'd never not trust him again.

"I love you," you whispered into him.

"I love you, too."


End file.
